Guess who's a big girl now? Annabeth Ellen Jones is, in her five-month-old splendor.
Five months is such a cute age.
This is when they get necks.
(That was last week when I put her in her high chair for the first time. She sat in it so happily while Brother and I ate our breakfast.)
This is when they're big enough to tickle, to toss in the air, to play horsey on the knee, to sit on your hip, to face forward in the Baby Bjorn, to nearly break your arm in the baby carrier, try to sit up, to do baby push ups, and to nearly swallow their fists. But they're still basically immobile, to the praise and glory of God.
We've had a lot of fun with Annabeth this month. We've also had the most tears since the newborn days. We have nothing to show for it yet, but Annabeth has been teething. Yeah, not my favorite. Baby's in pain, baby's fussing, mommy's frustrated with baby who doesn't want to nurse, mommy and daddy are wondering if their sweet, chilled out baby is gone forever. (I don't think she is.) I'm checking her gums every day but there's no change. I know from going back through my very old posts that Jackson teethed all summer and didn't get his first tooth until September. That was stinkalicious.
Well, why is Annabeth such a big girl now?
She got to try this today!
Everyone is ready for breakfast. Jackson and I also had oatmeal in Annabeth's honor. Jackson likes apple cinnamon and I like maple and brown sugar, to which I add raisins. Yum.
This facial expression just about sums him up.
When I got out Annabeth's baby spoon, Jackson was very interested in it. Jealous, really. I dug out an old one of his and let him see it. And eat with it.
Hmmmm. Mommy is dressed with makeup on at 8 in the morning. There are cameras everywhere. I'm in my sweet new chair. Something is up.
Jackson thought I was giving Annabeth tea with a spoon. Tea oatmeal, Mommy?
She opened up nice and wide for the spoon. (Although not in this picture.)
She wasn't real sure about what was in it.
She didn't cry or whine, but her eyes started to tear up. So tragic!
Look at that expression. I've not seen that face very often.
I think Annabeth's feelings would be best summed up in a monologue from...well, a portrait taken by Mom.
NOT REAL SURE ABOUT THIS OATMEAL STUFF.
I have to add one last thing. Yesterday morning I realized we were at the end of Annabeth's relatively mild diapers. Breastfed babies' poo is generally not lethal until you start solids. It has a weird sweet smell that you can't compare to anything. I even thought about how sad it was that I might never smell it again. (Working the nursery doesn't count.) Maybe I will when I change my grandbabies' diapers one day, but they might not be breastfed. Wouldn't it be awesome if I pressured my daughter, better yet my future daughter-in-law, to breastfeed because I secretly wanted to smell breastmilk poop again?
Did I just type that? People, this is what motherhood has driven me to.
Later on I went to fetch Annabeth out of her crib after a nap and, upon picking her up, I quickly felt stickiness all over my baby and all over my person. There was a muddy puddle the size of a chicken fried steak on the crib sheet. I was thanking God it didn't get on the pretty bumpers. I would have died! That detoured me into poop cleanup for the next 30 minutes. It was like having my own little going away party for the breastmilk poop. See? God really is in the details of our lives, y'all.
Farewell, sweet, sticky poo.